It's alright
by Bookjunk
Summary: Eric receives a disturbing phone call while he is on holiday with Sloan. He hurries back to Queens to support Vince. Set after season 6 finale. Slightly AU, because it ignores season 7 and 8.
1. Start over

Author's note:

Since Johnny's parentage is not established, (some things indicate that Rita Chase is his biological mother and other things indicated Vince and Johnny have the same father, but different mothers) I've decided that they have the same alcoholic, absentee father and that Rita is not Johnny's biological mother.

Story titles and chapter titles are song titles from One Night Only.

**Chapter 1: ****Start over**

Eric's phone rang and he read the name on the display. It was Vince and he told Sloan so. Immediately, she made a face. It was that familiar expression of faint annoyance that lately came over her when anything involved his friends. Whenever Sloan made that face Eric tried not to look, because she was a beautiful woman and that face made her look ugly. Jealousy is not a pretty emotion; that was the lesson Sloan's face was trying to impart. He couldn't understand why she was so negative about his friends. She liked them well enough. What she didn't like was their close friendship. He kept trying to tell her that when they were both retired she would be relieved to have his friends keep him out of her hair some of the time, but she never responded to that joke.

'Yes, Vince?'

'E, Johnny and I wanted to inform you that our mother has died yesterday. She's going to be buried tomorrow afternoon and it would be nice if you could come to the funeral.'

Vince was sounding incredibly weird, which was to be expected under the circumstances. How were you supposed to sound if your mother died? Eric didn't know, but still, apart from the understandable weirdness, Vince's voice was off. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was, but something was not quite right.

'Of course I'll come. How are you and Johnny doing? Are you holding up?' Eric asked and Sloan managed to look concerned. He really shouldn't say 'managed,' because she did care. It was just that he didn't care anymore. Eric turned away from her and focused his attention on what Vince was saying.

'Johnny is pretty shaken up. I'm ok,' Vince said. Eric told Vince he was sorry and that he had loved their mother, while Vince made noncommittal noises on the other end of the line. They said goodbye soon afterwards. Naturally, Eric remembered only after they had hung up that he should have asked how she had died and that he probably should have asked to speak to Drama. Too late now, he thought, as he left the beach and headed for the hotel. He didn't even look to see whether Sloan was following him.

They had spent three weeks in Hawaii. It was a sort of pre-honeymoon vacation, before they would get married. Sloan had made him promise to only talk to the guys for half an hour a week on Monday. The measure seemed ridiculous and reminded him uncomfortably of crazy Ashley, but he had given in nonetheless. Epic mistake. What if he hadn't taken that forbidden call just now and missed the funeral of Vince's mother? It was time to face the facts: they brought out the worst in each other. Sloan made him act like a jerk and he made her act like a bitch.

In the hotel room he immediately started to pack. He would call the airport from the cab. That meant he might have to wait at the airport for a few hours, but right now he would rather be stuck there than here with Sloan. A couple of minutes later Sloan entered the room. She said nothing as she watched him throw his underwear, shaving kit and toothbrush into the suitcase.

'Vince's mother is dead.'

Eric turned around and watched Sloan's face fall. She opened her mouth, he assumed to apologise, but he waved whatever she had to say away. He shouldn't focus on Vince. Even though Rita was not Drama's biological mother, she had raised him as her own and Drama certainly regarded her as his mother. Man, this sucked. To his surprise, Sloan took her suitcase out of the closet and started to pack too.

'I'm coming,' she explained. Well, this was awkward. He didn't want her to come. He didn't want to go anywhere with her at this moment. Searching for the right words, he rubbed his neck.

'I don't think that's such a good idea,' he finally said and she stopped packing to look at him. Her hands were on her hips. It was her bossy pose and he hated it. She only ever did that pose with him. At least, he had never witnessed it being used on anyone else. What did that say about their relationship? She was always acting as if she was his mother instead of his girlfriend. Telling him to 'grow up.' The implications made him shudder.

'Why not?' she asked and Eric mimicked the face she had made when he took the call. Sloan sighed in exasperation, 'How was I to know his mother had died?'

'That's not it. The last three weeks have been all about us,' Eric said as he sat down on the bed and started to empty the drawer of the nightstand. Three phone calls, that's the only connection he's had with his friends those weeks. Come to think of it; he'd only spoken to Turtle and Drama. For some reason Vince was never there when he called.

'Yet, you feel it is necessary to make that face when I take a call from one of them. I have a right to talk to my friends. And I would have taken that call even if it was just Vince talking about a chick he banged last night,' he continued.

'Eric...' Sloan feebly interjected, but he didn't let her finish.

'No. They're an important part of my life. Last year I bored them to death talking about you and they mocked me and gave me bad advice and laughed at me, but they were there. Why the fuck is it so hard for you to do the same?' Eric asked. He had to force himself to stay calm and refrain from yelling. They were breaking up, he suddenly realised. He was breaking up with Sloan.

'I'm your fiancée,' she stated and she seemed about to go into her spiel of all the things she deserved as his fiancée. Fiancée: just thinking the word was making him nauseous.

'And you think my attachment to them is unhealthy or whatever. You think you deserve to be number one. Well, there is no number one. There are number ones, and they're called Vince, Drama and Turtle and you would have been lucky to be up there with them. I'm done. We're done.'

He snapped his suitcase shut and left the room without looking back.

(***)

Later on the plane, after Eric had called Turtle and made sure someone was picking him up from the airport, he realised he hadn't been entirely fair to Sloan. Perhaps the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with did deserve to top the list. Either way, he had lied to her. Something had clicked when she reacted the way she did to Vince's phone call, but things had been sliding into place ever since he had asked her to marry him. Thinking back now, he knew that had been a stupid idea from the start. They hadn't been together for years and her instant irritation when he had confessed he still loved her should have told him enough.

Anyway, the truth was that he couldn't give the top spot to her. It was Vince's. Not Vince his client, because that Vince could be a total douche bag, but Vince his best friend. Turtle and Drama were close, but they weren't up there. Maybe there was something wrong with the way the list was structured, but he couldn't do anything about that. It had been the same list for as long as he could remember.


	2. Feeling fine

**Chapter 2: ****Feeling fine**

Arriving at JFK, Eric was pleasantly surprised to discover that Turtle was picking him up. They hugged and held on to each other for a lot longer than they would have done under normal circumstances. While he hauled his suitcase into the backseat, Turtle told him about the events of the past couple of days. Apparently Vince's mother had died of a heart attack at the community centre. Turtle sounded sad as he explained that her friends had tried to resuscitate her, but had been unable to. Eventually, Turtle looked around as if he was searching for someone.

'Where's Sloan? Isn't she coming?' he asked. Eric had been unable to tell him about the breakup on the plane, because he only managed to reach him right before takeoff and then cells were off limits until landing. On top of that, it was not something he wanted to discuss, in detail or otherwise. In the grand scheme of things his broken off engagement seemed insignificant at best.

'I don't know. We kind of broke up,' Eric admitted. Sometimes he hated himself. What a fucking waffling comment to make. Things didn't 'kind of' happen and they weren't 'kind of' broken up any more than Rita was 'kind of' dead. Great comparison that was, by the way. Showed some real compassion for his best friend's recently suffered loss.

'What? Why?' Turtle asked and Eric had to congratulate him on appearing genuinely distressed. If he hadn't known yet that the whole thing with Sloan had been a mistake, the fact that he'd gotten over the breakup during one flying trip would have told him as much. Turtle's cap was more emotional about it than Eric was.

'When I took the call from Vince she made this face...' Eric quasi-explained, before sighing and adding, 'But I don't want to get into that now. She might come to the funeral, though. Just not with me.'

She probably would come. Sloan was a good person and she liked Vince and Drama, if not Eric's attachment to them. That would be awkward, though. Again Eric wanted to kick himself, for making the funeral about him. The next couple of weeks, he resolved, would be about Vince and Johnny. No one had to convince him to pay attention to those two in their time of grief. No phone regulations had to be discussed; Eric was practically made to care for Vince. It was like his damn calling in life. As Eric got in the car next to Turtle, his friend looked at him. He took off his cap, so Eric knew it was a serious look.

'I decided it was best I picked you up,' Turtle announced and his tone suggested that he thought he was delivering some very important news. He seemed to be implying that Drama or Vince wanted to pick him up, but that this was not on. It was unclear to Eric why Turtle thought he needed to explain this. The two of them surely had more important stuff to do than give him a ride from the airport.

'That makes sense. They must be busy with the funeral arrangements,' he said and Turtle checked all the mirrors before driving off. After a brief pause he put his cap on again and wiggled it until it was in the right place. Eric couldn't help feeling that it was a sort of divisionary tactic. His friend was stalling.

'Yes, they are, but that's not why,' Turtle added. His tone was mysterious, but mostly ominous. Turtle focused on the road, but he could still sneak a glance at Eric, who felt confused and must have looked confused.

'There has been some... tension,' Turtle explained, hesitantly. He better explain fast, because Eric's patience was wearing thin. His nails dug into his palms as he told himself to calm the fuck down. It was just that he wanted to see Vince. Through all the good and bad times they had been by each other's side. The fact that almost a day had passed since Rita had died and he was only now going to have the opportunity to be there for Vince was killing him.

'How so?' he asked, preserving his calm. Thinking of something else than Vince might help, so... Turtle's limousine business was doing well, even when he wasn't there to run it, he had told Eric. Fingers crossed that it would stay that way. Turtle and Drama had always been the problem children of the group.

'Well, it's mostly Drama with a capital D,' Turtle said and rolled his eyes, before signalling and taking a smooth corner. In response, Eric sighed. We do call him Drama for a reason, he thought. It just seemed like a very inopportune moment to become his insecure, melodramatic self again. After he had gotten a holding deal from Yagoda, Eric had secretly been hoping that the desperate side of Drama would go on a long holiday and never come back.

'He feels that Vince is not affected enough by their mother's death,' Turtle mumbled. Now they both rolled their eyes and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Eric could imagine the scene playing out before his eyes; Drama tearing at his hair and beating his chest in grief and accusing Vince, who would most likely just limply stand there and take it. Fortunately, Turtle assured him that he had been able to avert disaster until now and Johnny had not yet confronted Vince about his perceived lack of emotion.

'And is he right?'

Before answering, Turtle lifted the cap again and ruffled his hair. Waiting for his answer unnerved Eric. Shouldn't Turtle kind of know? No, correction; he _should_ know. He had been with Vince all this time; surely he had seen whether or not Vince was at the very least upset by his mother's demise. But then Eric remembered Vince's voice during their phone call and thought that might be what Turtle was alluding to. That while things weren't right, Vince was still more off than he should reasonable be.

'I don't know. Everyone deals with grief in their own way, I guess. But Vince has been acting weird for weeks,' Turtle confessed and he hazarded a guilty glance at Eric. Eric shot an angry look back. Why hadn't Turtle told him about this? His phone privileges might have been minimal under Sloan's reign, but they had still talked and he could have mentioned it. Something else occurred to Eric: was this the reason Vince had never come to the phone when he called?

'Weird how?' he demanded, through his teeth.

'In Italy, after landing, he vomited like two or three times. We thought he had the flue or something, but the doctor said there was nothing wrong with him. He's just been different lately. You'll see when we get there.'

(***)

_There_ turned out to be the house in Queens where Rita used to live and where her body was now laid out. In a way, Eric was relieved when Turtle took charge of his suitcase and heaved it upstairs, because he hadn't even thought to book a room in a nearby hotel or something. The only thing he had been concerned with was getting to Vince as fast as possible. The house was filled with people he vaguely recognised from the neighbourhood and others he didn't know at all. Possibly those were Rita's friends from the community centre.

Eric struggled through the crowd, until he saw someone he knew. Drama immediately engulfed him in a big hug and almost lifted Eric from the floor. When he was safe out of his arms again, Eric expressed his condolences in a formal and stiff way that made him cringe. Drama didn't notice as he accepted them. There was a moment where Johnny seemed dismissive of his connection to Rita; not because he felt it was negligent, because he was afraid of what others would think. Firmly, Eric objected that for all intents and purposes Rita had been Drama's mother and his friend smiled gratefully.

'Where's Vince?' Eric asked and with a barely concealed sneer Johnny pointed him towards the couch. At first, Eric thought Drama sounded so bitter, because he had been unable to disguise that he was itching to see Vince, but the real reason revealed itself soon. On the couch, Vince was plucking at the upholstery, while he was watching a baseball game. The overall impression he gave off was one of boredom. Now Eric understood why Drama was mad. He made his way over to the couch and sat down next to Vince. Before he could do or say anything, Vince looked up.

'I'm fine,' he answered in response to an unspoken question from Eric. Vince looked ill, but not the sort of illness that develops over the course of one day. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had obviously lost weight. His clothes looked about two sizes too big. It was as if he hadn't had a good night's rest or a decent meal in weeks. Silently, Eric cursed Turtle and Drama for not informing him about Vince's state. He cursed Sloan, but mostly he cursed himself, because he should have been here. After all, he belonged by Vince's side.


	3. Nothing left

**Chapter 3: Nothing left **

It was hard to talk to Vince. Hell, it was impossible to talk to Vince. He just sat there with this vacant smile on his face and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. It freaked Eric out even more when he noticed the casket in the room. He had been so intent on speaking to Vince that he hadn't seen Rita lying there. She looked peaceful; that was something at least.

That entire afternoon Eric helped out Johnny and Turtle. They had hired a catering company, which was wholly unnecessary because everyone who arrived at the door to pay their respects had something to eat with them. The fridge was stuffed with casseroles and meatloaves. Eric caught someone trying to pry a ring of Rita's fingers. It turned out to be one of the neighbourhood kids; a boy barely twelve years old whose friends had dared him to do it. He booted the boy unceremoniously from the house and decided not to tell Johnny. Johnny would kill the kid.

From time to time Eric checked on Vince, but he barely moved. Not once did Eric see his friend look into the general direction of the casket. Eric wasn't sure Vince was aware that it was there. A couple of times he urged Vince to eat, but to no avail. In the evening, as people got out of work, the house filled until Eric thought it might bursts at its seams. This sense of community was something they didn't have in Hollywood and Eric had to admit he had kind of missed it. Tables were set up in the backyard and even more food arrived. The catering people went home and the three friends put all the food from the fridge on the tables in an effort to get rid of it. Someone brought a turning table and started to play some music.

The music wasn't rock & roll or anything; it was mostly jazz and blues. It was appropriate. Yet, with everybody eating and occasionally laughing and the music, it didn't feel like someone had recently died. It was almost like a celebration. Eric had no idea where his parents where, but he was glad they hadn't shown up for the viewing. If they had, everyone would be sloshed by now. His parents insisted on getting pissed the Irish way instead of the American way: they enjoyed playing up their Irish heritage at funerals and wakes by getting completely wasted.

Around midnight Eric went inside and as he expected Vince was still sitting in the exact same spot he had been sitting an hour ago when Eric last checked on him. After saying goodnight to Turtle and Johnny, Eric took Vince upstairs. Turtle had put his suitcase in Vince's old room, so they would have to spend the night together.

Wordlessly, they changed into their pyjamas. Vince tried to make Eric accept his bed, but he steadfastly declined. As Vince got under the covers, Eric pulled the spare mattress out from under his bed and got some blankets from the hall closet. As he settled in Eric thought about the countless nights he has spend sleeping over at the Chase's when he was little. Or young, as Turtle would say, because har-har, he was still little.

Rita would occasionally come in to shush them when their laughing or wrestling got too loud. In the morning she would have orange juice or milk, whichever of the two they wanted, and Eric's favourite cornflakes ready for them. Those were two things he never got at home: breakfast and consideration. Suddenly Eric was glad it was dark, so Vince couldn't see the tears that sprung into his eyes.

'E?'

Oh fuck, had Vince heard some stupid sniffle coming from him?

'E, are you still awake?'

'Yeah.'

Vince sounded better, almost like a human being and not like a robot. No wonder Drama was barely able to keep himself from strangling Vince. His voice sounded tinny at the best of times, as if it had to travel through space or static phone lines to get to Eric. But there was life in it now and some emotion. Eric wasn't sure whether it was a good emotion, but any emotion was preferable to none.

'Do you remember how we used to tell Johnny he was a kid of the milkman?' Vince whispered and there was actual laughter in his voice. Eric chuckled. Yes, he did remember. They were usually able to make Drama doubt and he would beg Rita to make them stop. Sometimes he tried to turn it around on them, but neither Eric nor Vince was impressed by his attempts. Even as a child Drama was so insecure that they could tease him with practically everything, but the milkman-father had been a particularly easy one.

'Yes,' Eric responded, but before he could anything Vince continued.

'And how mom always tried to make us drink milk? I used to nag her about lemonade and cola and she'd just shake her head and slide a glass of milk my way,' Vince said. This time he didn't sound amused. It was because Rita had cared; she had tried to protect him and keep him healthy and who would do that now? Johnny? A brother can't replace a mother.

'I'm sensing a theme here,' Eric whispered back. Or was he imagining this? It was difficult to talk to Vince when he was so emotionally unavailable, but in the past they had hardly ever needed that sort of communication. Mostly, Eric could tell what Vince was feeling or thinking by just looking at him. In the dark this was obviously not an option, but Eric liked to think that even when Vince was going through something so horrible that their connection would still be there.

'The other day it was on the radio. _No milk today_. That's what I keep thinking. 'No milk today, my love has gone away.' It's fucking stupid, I know. I've always hated that song,' Vince admitted and Eric tried to stifle a laugh.

'It's not stupid if that's how you feel,' he finally replied and he meant every word of it. His eyes were starting to adapt to the dark and he could see Vince's head on the pillow, close to the edge of the mattress. His friend inhaled and exhaled loudly, as if he needed to gather courage before he could say more. One hand dangled over the edge of the bed and seemed to be directing an orchestra with slow, steady strokes.

'What I feel is like I have nothing left,' Vince admitted and Eric felt an overwhelming desire to get in bed with Vince and hug the hell out of him. It occurred to him that he had hugged Turtle and Drama and several virtual strangers over the course of the day, but not Vince. On the other hand, that was some melodramatic statement if he had ever heard one.

'Well, I'm sorry, but that _is_ stupid. You've got me, you've got Turtle and Drama, and you've got Lloyd. You've even got Ari,' Eric protested and Vince sighed. The hand stopped moving and hung there like an invitation.

'_Have_ I got you?' Vince softly asked and in response Eric grabbed his hand. They both squeezed and Eric was relieved to feel that Vince's grip was still strong. Tomorrow he would try to get Vince to eat something. Then they would tackle the funeral together and after that they'd see. Eric would make it so that Vince would say that he was feeling fine and mean it. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make it alright.

'You'll always have me.'

(***)

_No milk today_ is a song by Herman's Hermits.


	4. Just for tonight

**Chapter ****4: Just for tonight**

In the morning, Eric got up before Vince, taking care to make sure he didn't wake Vince. His friend looked a little better than he had done the day before and a few more hours of sleep would only help. Downstairs, Johnny was already preparing breakfast and they exchanged good mornings. Johnny offered to make Eric something, but when Eric saw that there was no milk he went out and got some.

When he returned Vince and Turtle had joined Drama at the table. Turtle was silently pleading with his eyes for Eric to defuse the tension. It was tense as hell. The older Chase brother was staring daggers at Vince and Vince either didn't notice or didn't care. From the kitchen Eric got four glasses and took them to the table. He filled the glasses to the brim with milk. As he shoved the glass towards Vince a tiny smile appeared on his friend's lips, but it merely flickered and was gone. Johnny beamed at him and Turtle nodded gratefully.

After that the atmosphere was a little friendlier, until Johnny became aware that Vince hadn't eaten anything. Eric had feebly tried to distract him from the fact that Vince was pushing everything around with his fork and mashing bits and then eyeing the results. At least Vince had finished two glasses of milk.

When the others were done eating, Vince trudged to the couch, turned on the television and watched infomercials with much more attention than they deserved. Out of frustration, Johnny banged the plates around in the sink.

'I don't know how _that_ is going to read a eulogy,' Johnny told Eric. They both looked at Vince who had managed to tear the upholstery of the couch and was now rooting around in the hole with his fingers. Yet, his eyes never wavered from the screen. Now Eric had to agree with Johnny; he didn't think that Vince should do anything in this state.

'Whose idea was that?' he whispered. 'His,' Johnny hissed, as he stabbed at a plate with the brush. All three winced as one of the plates clattered to the floor, but miraculously it didn't break or even crack. Turtle and Eric moved to pick it up, but Johnny was faster. For a second, he looked at the plate and Eric was afraid he would hurl it at the wall or slam it against the edge of the counter, but instead he gently slid it back into the dishwater.

'It's true. And he won't let us read it,' Turtle added. His voice was hushed and they glanced at Vince. This was ridiculous. They were acting like a bunch of conspirators. Eric approached Vince, whose eyes were still glued to the television. Apparently, a one size fits all bra was very interesting.

'Vince, did you write a eulogy?' Eric asked and Vince nodded.

'Could I maybe read it?' he cautiously asked, but this time Vince shook his head.

'You sure?' asked again and Vince's head snapped up to look at him. His entire right hand had disappeared into the couch. A moment ago Eric has seen his fingers crawling underneath the fabric, but now they were still.

'I said no!' Vince responded with a sudden increase in volume that startled Eric. Before he could reply, Vince was already back to watching the commercial, as if nothing had happened. Eric looked at the others. They shrugged in unison. Johnny was drying his hands with a towel and he looked capable of wringing Vince's neck with a little help from the same towel.

'Let's fucking pray that Vince doesn't screw this up,' Turtle said and Eric agreed. If Vince fucked up the eulogy, he didn't think there would be enough men to hold Johnny back from taking a swing at Vince. And a swing was just the best case scenario.

(***)

That afternoon at the funeral.

Vince looked very handsome in his suit, even with the alarming weight loss. They might have been able to pass his pallor off as consumed by grief, but whenever you least expected it that obnoxious grin appeared. Plus, Vince seemed always one second away from lifting up his sleeve and glancing at his watch. Not that he had a watch to glance at, but that was the general impression he made. As if he was bored out of his mind and had something much more important to do that he was already late for.

Reading the eulogy, Vince maintained the same expression and Eric could hear people muttering behind him who seemed to find it inappropriate for a funeral. Well, inappropriate was really the least of their problems; Johnny was practically fuming. Luckily, the eulogy itself was fine. A bit generic maybe, but not the disaster Eric had come to expect. There was even a moment where Eric could have sworn something akin to sorrow crossed Vince's face, but like his anger that morning it was gone in a flash.

After the service in the church was over, they congregated in the front of the church as people formed a progression to the cemetery. Vince and Johnny shook hands and accepted condolences again. From time to time, while Vince was glancing longingly at the doors and pretending to listen to the story of a vague acquaintance of Rita, Drama whispered expletives at Turtle and Eric.

'Did you hear that bullshit eulogy he gave?'

'I thought it was nice,' Eric said. That was not exactly what he thought, but this was not the time to stoke the fire of Johnny's anger. The eulogy was fine, enough, sufficient. It _would do_. Not a glowing recommendation, but it was not so bad to justify a brawl in the church during the funeral.

'The smile was creepy, though,' Turtle commented and this earned him a warning glance from Eric. Johnny shook another hand and when the person was past he continued muttering darkly at them.

'That speech was damn copy paste. Look E, I know it's just a pose and that underneath he's fucking hurting, but his whole la-di-da attitude is starting to piss me off. I haven't even seen him cry yet.'

The next person in line was a little, old lady and she seemed to be scandalised by Johnny's language. As he took her fragile, gloved hand into his own, she pinched him.

'This is the house of the Lord, Johnny,' she sternly said and her voice was wispy. Embarrassed, Johnny apologised, appearing genuinely contrite, until he snuck a glance at Vince and caught him yawning. 'Goddammit!' he mumbled under his breath and the old biddy dithered away offended. Ari appeared before them, having made his way toward them.

'I never thought I'd say this, but I'm with Drama on this one,' the agent said.

'Everyone grieves differently,' Turtle attempted, but his response sounded weak and stupid. Eric was secretly glad that Turtle had been the one to say it; otherwise he would have been forced to defend Vince's behaviour. There must be something at the root of it, but right now Vince just seemed like a major asshole.

'His reaction might be normal, but it's not good. Either he's really this cold of a motherfucker, which we all know he isn't, or he's bottling this shit up. That's not healthy,' Ari explained and they stared at him. Who knew Ari was sage?

'Ok, Dr. Phil,' Turtle deadpanned.

There was a difficult moment at the cemetery when the casket was sealed and Johnny realised this was the last time he was going to see Rita. All his anger at Vince ebbed away and he wept unashamedly. Vince: unaffected and dumbly blinking. As the casket was lowered into the grave, Eric half-expected Johnny to throw himself into the grave, but they all remained calm. Vince: fiddling with his cufflinks, staring at the ground. After the funeral they piled into one of Turtle's limousines, thankfully not driven by one of his usual drivers, but a sour-faced man, and drove back home.

When they got out of the car, Eric got an unpleasant surprise. His parents were standing on the pavement; his father nonchalantly leaning against a dozen crates of beer, his mother lightly swaying already, a box of bottles precariously balancing in her arms. Mortified, Eric looked at his friends, but Johnny and Turtle simply accepted a beer from his father, before starting to carry the crates inside. Vince slinked up to his mother and absconded with a bottle of something eerily looking like whisky. This could not end well; it was around five now and as far as Eric knew Vince hadn't eaten anything all day.

Inside, the catering had set the tables and it didn't take long before invited guests were starting to arrive. Eric was pretty sure his parents were not on the list, but they doled out alcohol as if they were the hosts. He had seen them do the same at his uncle's funeral a couple of years back. His aunt had been outraged, but his parents hadn't cared and they didn't care now either. Before he could wonder whether they were even aware who was dead, his father pressed a beer into his hand and he drank it.

Pretty soon everybody was drunk and Vince was nowhere to be seen. Eric scoured the downstairs rooms, the yard and the street. Finally, he climbed up the stairs and found Vince holed up in his old bedroom. An empty bottle of whisky lay next to him on the floor and another bottle was in his firm grip. With remarkable accuracy Vince put the bottle down on his nightstand and approached Eric. His breath was enough to knock out a small elephant, but the only thing Eric noticed about Vince that was different was his speed. The movements he made were sluggish and slow, as if he was wading through water.

That was why it surprised Eric that he did nothing to stop Vince when his friend closed the door and pushed him against it. Clumsily, Eric banged his head against the door.

'Vince, what the fuck are you doing?' he asked, rubbing the back of his head, Yeah, that was going to be a bruise. But then Vince brushed his lips against his and Eric stood still. They both breathed loudly and listened to the sounds from downstairs. Eric lifted his hand and touched Vince's cheek and Vince responded by pressing his lanky frame against Eric's. Their mouths collided and Eric could feel his lips swell under Vince's hard kisses. Yet, when Vince pulled away and Eric was afraid that his lips might bleed if they kissed like that again, he grabbed Vince and smashed their lips together like he was starving for it. What else could he do? He _was _starving for it. He loved Vince.


	5. You and me

**Chapter 5: You and me**

So far, it was only a kiss. Ok, multiple kisses. Neither of them spoke as they walked to the bed. It wasn't necessary. There were no questions on either side. No _what the fuck are you doing_, because it was crystal clear what they were doing. They weren't drunk enough for it to be a mistake; at least, Eric wasn't. For his part, Vince moved with a quiet and urgent determination that was startling. It wasn't until afterwards that Eric realised he might have mistaken desperation for something else.

It was wrong. Vince had lost his mother and he was obviously not handling it well. Eric couldn't help but feel that he was taking advantage of the vulnerability of his friend. On the other hand, Vince was the one who had started and who, even now, was orchestrating everything. He was the one who loosened Eric's tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

Whenever Vince's fingertips grazed his skin, Eric gasped. Every now and then they would stop and listen whether they could hear someone up the stairs and failing to hear anything they'd continue. Vince seemed so sure of himself. So sure that this was what he wanted. His hands expertly undid Eric's belt and flung it across the room. Every touch and kiss of Vince was just a little bit more forceful and aggressive than was necessary. There was something undeniably violent about their sexual encounter.

Vince sucked on Eric's neck and Eric moaned involuntarily. Fuck, this was so hot, and he couldn't even make the noise he wanted to make, because there were people downstairs. It was disrespectful to Rita, Eric thought. But when Vince licked his way down to Eric's navel, Eric couldn't think anymore.

They tumbled onto the bed and Eric set to undressing Vince as quickly as humanly possible. His jet black hair was tousled and the stubble on his chin rasped under Eric's hands. Vince had always exuded sexiness, but now Eric could feel it under his very fingers. All the while, Vince was staring at him and for the first time since Eric came back from Hawaii Vince was there. There was nothing sedated or dreamlike about him; he was awake and enjoying every second of it.

Finally they were both naked. While Eric was unsure of what to do, because he had never made love to a man before, Vince instinctively took command. The sex was fast and messy and fucking fantastic.

After they climaxed, Eric looked into Vince's eyes. Somehow Eric thought that this might be the moment that Vince would start crying. Not in a Vince cries when he ejaculates kind of way, which they used to joke about. There was something cathartic about an orgasm that often caused other emotions to rush to the surface. And what other emotion could Vince have bottled up than grief? Yet, nothing happened.

Their skin was hot and sweaty as they panted and lay against each other. Vince smelled strongly of sex and liquor; it was a heady, sweet smell. After a while, Vince's breathing slowed down and Eric knew that he had fallen asleep. Eric turned his head to look at him. How fucking stupid had he been to not realise before that this was it? Gay, bisexual, whatever: he loved Vince. Always had and always will. But what did Vince feel?

They had sex. That happened. But Eric was unsure of what it meant. Had he caught Vince at a weak moment, where sex with anyone would have made him feel better? Or was it something more?

A while ago the four of them had talked about the Mel Gibson thing: the drunken anti-Semitic rant. They had unanimously agreed that it said some very disturbing things about the actor. Because Eric couldn't picture himself going off like that and spouting racist crap. Not about Jews, not about people with a different skin colour, not about any group of people, really. Sure, he could see himself talking smack about Ari, but not because the agent was Jewish. Simply because the agent could be a douche bag. So, they had concluded that being drunk only took away inhibitions; it didn't change you. This would mean, of course, that Vince had wanted to sleep with him.

Somewhere deep inside Vince had carried around the desire to fuck Eric and now in his alcoholic haze he had revealed it. The possibility of this made Eric feel warm and happy. Not that it was necessarily true; it was just a theory. But he liked it a whole lot better than the very real possibility that Vince had been so out of it that he had barely known what he was doing. I shouldn't be thinking about that right now, Eric admonished himself. He needed to enjoy this moment, because who knew how long it would last. He pulled the sheets across them and, slowly, he drifted into sleep.

'I'm sorry. I screwed it up, didn't I?' Vince suddenly whispered and Eric was startled out of his slumber. He supported himself on his elbow and looked at Vince.

'Screwed what up?'

'You and Sloan,' Vince said, as if that was obvious and it occurred to Eric that he hadn't told Vince about the break up.

'There's nothing to... Fuck, Sloan! I forgot to call her with particulars about the funeral. She wasn't there, was she? Did you send her an invitation or something?' Eric whispered back and Vince shook his head. This was perfect. They had just had the most amazing sex, which was pretty remarkable since Eric had had absolutely no idea what he had been doing, and now they were talking about his ex-fiancée.

'We broke up, because I wanted to be with you. In your time of need,' Eric added and Vince looked about as fed up with that last phrase as Eric was. In your time of need; bullshit, he had wanted to be with Vince, period.

'Yeah, I just wanted some consolation. Just for tonight,' Vince said and he sounded angry. Not a quick flash of anger, but a slow, simmering sort of anger that scared Eric. The sweat on his skin had cooled and when Vince stepped out of bed a cold wave swept over Eric. Without looking at him, Vince stepped into his boxers and calmly opened the door. A few seconds later Eric could hear vomit splattering into the toilet bowl down the hall. _Just for tonight_. Well, that answers that. Sex with E: nauseating.


	6. Say you don't want it

**Chapter 6****: Say you don't want it**

'Are you feeling alright?' Eric asked when Vince came back into the bedroom. As soon as he'd said it he wanted to bite his tongue. What a fucking stupid thing to say. Vince had been throwing up for quite some time. Not that there was a lot to get rid of, mostly whisky, Eric guessed. And then he had waited while Vince brushed his teeth, because even with the light from the hallway Eric couldn't locate his clothes and it was only now that he was starting to feel the alcohol. Those few beers were really rocking a headache.

'No,' Vince said. He sat down on the bed next to Eric, while Eric tried to hide as much of himself as was possible under the blankets. The big talk was coming up and it would be rude to expose how aroused he was. Aroused by his best friend, whom he apparently loved in a romantic, want-to-fuck sort of way. Some damn plot twist that was.

'Mind telling me how you _do_ feel?' Eric said, hoisting himself into a sitting position under the sheets. Vince looked at him and sighed. One of his slender hands mussed his hair, as if it wasn't already messy enough after the sex.

'I feel guilty.'

That wasn't exactly what Eric had expected. He was thinking more along the lines of feeling horrible or like hell or embarrassed or disgusted and torn up about his mother's death. But guilty, no. What did Vince have to feel guilty about?

'Since you and Sloan announced your engagement, I've been feeling miserable,' Vince admitted and surprised Eric looked at him.

'Turtle told me you have been sick,' Eric offered, because it didn't seem like Vince was going to expand on his statement. His friend shook his head.

'I let them think that. Honestly, I was ill, but it was because of what I knew,' Vince explained. Something in Eric's chest fluttered. It was deeply unpleasant, a random clench of anxiety he had never experienced before. Like a fucking iron band tightening around his heart.

'What...' Eric began, but his voice was so hoarse that he had to start again, 'What did you know?'

'That I didn't want you to get married to Sloan,' Vince admitted. Eric felt his heart getting a little more room. If Vince was saying what he thought he was saying...

'Vince.'

'Don't E. The reason I feel guilty is because I've been thinking about you nonstop. Even after mom died, I've spent more time thinking about you than about her. My dead mother,' Vince said and there was a raw and naked hurt in his voice that had not been there before. The only time that Eric could think of that came close was when Mandy had dumped Vince for the second time. Vince had been a wreck. Eric desperately wanted to say that he loved him, but that was simply not what was called for.

'Of course, you did,' Eric stated and Vince looked at him with a baffled expression on his face, 'You used me as a distraction. Anything not to think about Rita's death.'

Vince shook his head, as if this explanation didn't satisfy him. With astonishing strength, he grabbed Eric's shoulders and squeezed. Eric let him, though it hurt. Clearly, there was some shit that Vince needed to get out, either verbally or physically.

'I feel guilty, because there's no room for grief. There's only love. I love you, E.'

As soon as he had said it, Vince deflated in his arms. Now there was really nothing left, Eric thought, as he laid Vince down next to him and hugged him. Eric briefly wondered about the open door, because what if someone came in? Fuck that. Right now they were just two friends, hugging.

'Look Vince, you've got it backwards. You need something, someone, to hold on to and I'm glad you chose me. But it is because Rita died, not despite of it, that it seems so overwhelming. This intense love that you feel, it's because you don't want to accept it. I think you might not have been ready to mourn Rita.'

Vince turned in his arms, so that they faced each other. Relieved, Eric ascertained that Vince had not disappeared to that neutral place of boredom. He was still there, which was good, because Eric had been afraid that he might be retreating during the psycho babble. That talk was probably utter bullshit, since Eric had had no idea what the hell he was saying. But he had needed to say something, because the way Vince was carrying on was unhealthy. Apparently, Ari had been right. Vince had dug a snug little hole where instead of allowing the full measure of grief to wash over him, he had wallowed in guilt and self-pity.

'But I felt it before that,' Vince whispered and he sounded so scared and small that Eric hugged him even tighter.

'I'm not saying you don't love me, I'm just saying you used it to forget about other things,' Eric clarified. Slowly, Vince started to tremble. It was unsettling, because Eric could feel him and he was hot one minute and cold the next. There was a fever running through him and judging by that sudden trip to the bathroom to puke his brains out, Vince was still sick. Well, what did he expect? First, he tortures himself about my engagement, Eric thought, and, by the looks of him, doesn't eat or sleep properly and on top of that his mother dies.

'Say you don't want it too, E. Tell me. Come on, say it. It wasn't just for tonight for me. Say it,' Vince pleaded and Eric understood that no matter how much he wanted to answer, that was simply not what Vince needed to hear. If he confirmed he loved him, Eric was convinced they'd be fucking again within a second and if he said he didn't then Vince would focus on that instead. It was a last ditch effort to make it about something else and he wasn't going to indulge Vince.

Instead of answering he wrapped his arms around Vince, trying to make him warm, trying to make it alright. He had been singularly unsuccessful in doing that so far, but this time Eric felt he might succeed. Realising that Eric wasn't going to answer, Vince broke down. It weren't actual sobs that shook him, but ripples of something primal and almost animalistic. The sounds Vince emitted were horrible for Eric to have to listen to, because they spoke of a hurt that was beyond words. It was too much for one man to contain. Now Eric knew why it was perhaps better to be like Johnny than to be like Vince. The talent to be so vocal about what bothered you kept you from having everything gnaw at you from the inside.

'I didn't even look at her,' Vince kept repeating and Eric would have gotten up and gone to the cemetery and committed a serious act of grave robbery if he thought that would have helped. Trashing around in his grief, Vince tore at Eric and dug his fingers into Eric's flesh. It felt like an eternity before Vince calmed down a little. By that time they were both exhausted; Vince from his extremely unwilling outpouring and Eric from trying to hold Vince still. They panted and Eric finally allowed his arms to release their grip.

'I do love you. Have for a long time now,' Eric whispered and Vince peered at him through his tears.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Well, what was I supposed to say? Sorry your mother has died, by the way I love you, let's make out?' Eric muttered sarcastically. Vince leaned in and kissed him softly and Eric was grateful that Vince had brushed his teeth.

'So, you'll stay and hold me when I cry and other gay shit?' Vince mocked.

'What is gay? The holding you or the crying?' Eric shot back.

'You and me, apparently,' Vince answered and it sounded way too fucking good. _You and me. _The strangest thing was that it wasn't even a big change. It was the same as before mostly. Vince and he loving each other. Only the physical aspect was new. Eric felt it should maybe feel more different, but it didn't. It felt natural and right. Like it had been a long time in the making. He wasn't worried about Turtle or Drama and how they would react. Ari would be a dick, naturally, and their friends would be uncomfortable at first and then they would adapt. Smiling, Eric kissed Vince.

'It's going to take a while for me to be alright, though. I'm preparing you, E,' Vince warned and Eric nodded. Crying once wasn't going to solve everything. Vince had loved his mother like crazy and now she was gone. That wasn't suddenly going to be ok. Except now they were together and Eric was going to be there every step of the way to make sure that Vince was going to be alright in the end.

'We've got time. It'll get better. It's fine if for now it's fucking hard. Trust me, eventually it will be alright.'

The end.


End file.
